products. Discount prices.'
'I -- I wasn't looking at those,' Flo said.
'Yes, you were.' The young man smiled, but there was nothing snide or smirking or hurtful in his smile. Nothing lascivious.
Lascivious?
She was old enough to be his grandmother.
'I --' she began.
'You're looking for a vibrator.' He picked up the middle model, the wand.
'This one is probably the best if you're going to be massaging your back muscles and those hard-to-reach places. On the other hand, if you're looking to sexually pleasure yourself --'
'I am not!' She was almost shouting, and she felt the heat of embarrassment flush her face. She quickly glanced around, but they were still alone in the aisle.
'It's none of our business if you are. And it's nothing to be ashamed of, ma'am. We're here to provide you with the products you need, not to pass judgment on your lifestyle. Our policy is to make sure that everyone finds what they want and that none of our customers are ashamed or embarrassed. If I've made you feel that way, I am truly sorry.'
Flo took a deep breath. 'No, I'm sorry. I overreacted.'
The young man placed a familiar hand on her shoulder. 'Here at The Store, we have a confidential relationship with our customers. Like priests and lawyers, we do not divulge what is said to us in private. It remains between us and the customer. That is one of the cardinal rules listed in _The Employee's Bible_, and it is why we are able to provide such effective customer service.'
Flo was silent.
'So anything you say is between me and you. Period.' He replaced the wand vibrator and gestured toward the others on the shelf. 'Now, if you're really looking for a muscle relaxer . . .'
'No,' she said.
He smiled. 'I didn't think so.'
She looked at him. He was a nice young man, helpful, friendly, easy to talk to. She felt comfortable with him. She trusted him. 'Maybe we should start over,' she said. 'From the beginning.'
He nodded. 'Very well.' He walked down the aisle, turned, walked back, smiling at her. 'May I help you, ma'am?'
'Yes,' she said. 'I'd like to buy a vibrator.'
'As you can see, we have several different models for you to choose from.'
'I already know which one I want.'
'And which one is that, ma'am?'
'That one there,' she said, pointing. 'The one that looks like a cock.'
2
Holly missed the cafй.
She wasn't the only one, either. A lot of the old regulars seemed to be lost, not knowing what to do with their time now that they didn't have a booth bench or a counter stool to park their butts on.
At least she had a job. As part of the purchase agreement, The Store had promised Williamson that all of the cafй's employees would be kept on. She'd assumed that that meant she'd keep her old position. But The Store had shut down the cafй and had transferred her, the cooks, and the other waitresses to the snack bars in The Store.
No, not snack bars.
Eating establishments.
It just wasn't the same. Aside from the froufrou food and the unfriendly coworkers, the space here was cramped, and she didn't feel comfortable, didn't feel she had room to move around. She also didn't like staring out at shoppers all day long.
And The Store didn't allow tipping.
That was her biggest gripe.
Vernon Thompson had followed her over from the cafй. The Store's espresso bar wasn't quite the same, and the old-timer complained about . . . well, just about everything. But she was there and he was there and at least that provided some sense of continuity, some feeling of home.
His buddy, though, was gone. The Store had done what nothing else could and had split up the friendship. From what she heard, Buck now spent his days on a barstool at the Watering Hole. She wasn't sure what had happened or why -- and she didn't want to pry -- but she knew that Vern missed his pal, and it was sad to see the old man moping alone on one of those tiny plastic chairs, trying to talk to other customers who were usually too rushed and busy to even give him the time of day.
She blamed Williamson. Why did that son of a bitch ever have to sell the cafй?
She patted Vern on the back as she poured him yet another in his endless refills of straight, plain, old- fashioned black coffee, started to pick up the oversized cafй au lait mugs from the empty table next to him, and looked up to see Buck, wearing a cowboy hat and an old longcoat, weaving down the center aisle toward the espresso bar.
She glanced over at Vern. He'd seen, too, and they both shared a glance.
Neither of them were sure if this was good or bad, if Buck was coming here to hang out or cause problems, and they waited, unmoving, as he staggered toward them.
'Vernon!' Buck yelled. 'You old peckerheaded son of a bitch! How's it hangin'?'
Shoppers across the aisle and customers in the espresso bar turned to look at him, but Buck paid them no heed.
Vern seemed to be unfazed. 'Can't complain,' he said. 'Why don't you draw up a stool, have a sit down?'
'I will, I will.' He turned toward Holly. 'Holly! My favorite waitress!
Ain't this just like old home week!'
'Sit down,' she told him. 'I'll get you some coffee, sober you up. On the house.'
'Don't want no coffee!'
'Lower your voice. People're staring.'
'Don't care!'
Holly looked at Vern for help.
'Come on,' Vern told his friend. 'Don't make a damn scene.'
'I . . .' Buck blinked, looked confused, then quickly recovered. 'I want to see the manager!' he announced.
Holly quickly looked around. 'No, you don't, Buck. You're drunk. You either sit down and shut up, or you go home now.'
'I demand to see the manager!'
'Is there a problem here?' The short, officious man who suddenly appeared next to Holly looked quizzically at Buck. 'Is there something I can do for you, sir?' 'Yeah, goddamn it. You can take me to the store manager.'
'Certainly.'
Holly licked her lips, suddenly feeling nervous. She had never met The Store's manager. As far as she knew, no one had. It was not something that was ever talked about or brought up, but by tacit agreement the manager was never mentioned.
She didn't know why.
Now the fact that Buck was going to be taken to him set off a feeling within her that was almost like panic. 'He's drunk!' she said.
The short man turned to face her. She had never seen him before, but the name tag on his suit lapel read MR. WALKER. 'I know,' he said.
'I want to see the manager!' Buck demanded. 'Now!'
'But the fact that he's drunk doesn't mean that he has no right to see the manager.'
Buck grinned.
'This way, please. I will take you to Mr. Lamb. He will take you in to see the manager.'
Holly watched, coffeepot still in hand, as Buck was led straight down the aisle to a door in the far wall. The
